


Take the Shot

by KalleZot



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Racism, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, F/M, Gavin isn't that big of an asshole, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson Swears, I'm not fixing it, Investigations, Kidnapping, Kinda, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photography, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), References to Depression, Robot/Human Relationships, Serial Killer, Slurs, This is Graphic, Torture, android gore, everyone does, still an ass tho, this tags are messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalleZot/pseuds/KalleZot
Summary: (y/n) is a famous photographer, just landed in Detroit for a big event, but their timing could not have been worst. Add that and the lack of inspiration for their next step, and their hatred for crowds, this might possibly be their worst trip to date.Meanwhile, Connor is one step away from shutting down from stress. He can't get a hold of his emotions, even after two years of deviancy. Hank does his best to keep him away from certain death, but he might as well be trying to get rid of the ocean water with a plastic toy bucket.Now the both of them have something big on their hands, as androids and humans alike start to slowly vanish, without a trace. Not only that, but there might be a brutal killer on the loose, whose obsession with art can only be compared to hell itself.





	1. Victim

**Author's Note:**

> This gave me a headache. I'm not that experienced about the things I write about, so I have to research for days before I even type the first word. But, right now, I think I got the hang of the whole thing to start it. Sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Also, (f/f) means favorite flower. I couldn't really think of anything, so just imagine your favorite one :) (actually that's disturbing... Just read the tags one more time, to make sure. This is heavy shit.)

(y/n) (l/n), world most renowned photographer. Filthy rich, had beloved fans they treated like the closest friends, and an unhealthy obsession with perfection; Although, not quite the type most people would assume. Their attitude towards others however... They were very specific in who to be kind to, and who to show the ugliest side to. And the only one who knew who could pass their 'test', was Bruce Owens, their only employee.

Bruce was born in England, his mother was British, and his father american. They wanted him to become a successful businessman, and were very strict about it. He met (y/n) back in the last year of high school, when they threw away everything he thought he understood. Knocked his books out of his desk, pulled him by the shirt and started to question him, as if he was a criminal and they were a cop trying to rip information out of him. 'Why you looking for something you hate?', 'Is that the perfect life you want? Or what others chose for you?', 'Are you some robot that does whatever it is told? Fucking pathetic, stand up for yourself.', 'It's clear as day that this is not what you want', 'I can help you.'

Since that day, he secretly would meet up for practice, and he hid his passion for art; He never liked desk stuff, it never even made sense for him, but that, what (y/n) would show him, even when no one understood what each photograph represented, that was clear as day for him. 

And so Bruce became the single assistant of (y/n) (l/n). He got a fat bank account, favors left and right, treated to expansive dinner every other day, first row shows of how everything was made, and let's not forget his girlfriend in Detroit, who he met when he went to talk to a museum curator.

This was their second time in the city. First time was (y/n) third exposition, when they were still very young and inexperienced, and they had more natural ground to photograph. Now, things were limited.

"Did you book the hotel? I don't want a repeat of Toronto." They murmured, their phone out, snapping something from the window of the plane, updating their social media ' _Almost landing!_ '. A bit too enthusiastic, but they had to seem happy, appearance mattered a lot if they wanted to keep a high rank.

"Yes, and confirmed it two times. Also, the saloon where the party will take place send a message. It has to be one week earlier, their staff ran into a problem with schedules, so next week it'll be closed."

"So no time off from people. Grand." They put their phone back, and stared at the view in front of them.

Back to society.

\---

"World wide famous (y/n) (l/n) will be visiting Detroit for three whole months for the third Grand Arts event, taking place in Detroit. (y/n) (l/n)'s works are easily recognized by their beautifully disturbing pictures. Their arrival in Detroit is highly anticipated by both their fans, and aspiring photographers, all who wish to meet them in person, and maybe even get some tips for their future career. Bruce Owens, their assistant and friend, will also be disembarking in Detroit, and has confirmed multiple times that, aside from the event, the last collection by (y/n) will also be displayed in Detroit, with a surprise neither of them have given any hints, although most are expecting a lecture to be held.

(y/n) work is certainly something else, with photos usually portraying the world in a darker way, but put so beautifully, it makes the viewer question the real nature of the picture. Is it supposed to show ugliness in life? Or show how things aren't what they seem? As their silence about symbolism in their photos lasts since the beginning of their career, the symbolism behind (y/n)'s work is still a mystery, and open for debate. The nature of the photos also makes the community question how morally acceptable they are, to be displayed for all. Most museums who display their works put warnings on the sections, but it's not been uncommon for people to complain about the brutality demonstrated.

The Grand Arts event brings together not only painters and photographers, but also dancers, singers, musicians, sculptors, and many others who changed the way art is viewed. It shows their careers, since the very beginning, before they could even be considered professionals, to the first work sold, through the big hit, all the way to their current status, and, for those who wish, it's an opportunity to show what the future may hold for their work. The event allows lovers of all artists to not only enjoy the history of their idols, but also to bring a piece of it home with them. Pictures, albums, recordings, and so much more will be for sale in the museum. Some artists even confirmed presence in the event, so a visit is most certainly on the schedule for a great part of the art community, and an opportunity to perhaps even become part of it."

Connor put the magazine down. Why would the criminal keep this around? Not only that, judging by the place where he found it, the armrest of the couch, and the fingerprints, they were really interested in this article.

The house wasn't big, neither small, perfect for a single person, and had photos and painting all over, a few discos and albums laid by the TV, organised with care, and by order. Whoever this was, really loved their music.

Apparently they were dealing with drugs in this case, perhaps even murder and theft, but he only found a joint, and, according to law, it could be for medical use, so nothing for even a fine, and he could clearly see Hank shiver with the need for action this time. Other than that, a revolver hidden under the couch, which he found thanks to the marks made by pushing the couch around so much, a safe upstairs, in the bedroom, and that was it.

The couch hasn't been moved recently, so he didn't even bother to find evidence around it, the joint was on display, so apparently whoever was living here pretended to have a good time when they came back, and that left him with finding the code for the safe upstairs.

"Check the paintings, judging by the films and books this is going to be a cliche..." Hank grunted from the kitchen, crouching to see if he could find anything hidden.

"Understood Lieutenant." He answered, making his way upstairs, being mindful of what surrounded him, uselessly so, this was an everyday house. Nothing pointed him in the right direction, and everything was set up to be so normal it was starting to mess with his progr- Him. Just. Him. No program, and no CyberLife. That was two years ago.

He stopped.

Was that a phone?

Connor stopped his train of thought, and quickly followed the sound, but it only lead him to the guest room and went silent again. There was a mattress by the wall, pulled up, a big wardrobe, and a pile of broken canvasses, mostly blank. The room had splashes of paint all over the floor, and some droplets on the lower part of the wall, accompanied by dust covering everything; This placed hasn't been visited in a long time. A frustrated artist, and that explained the magazine and the frames on the walls, but no matter, this was where the sound came from. He first approached the mattress and moved it out of the way, but there was only crumpled paper behind it. He crouched down and carefully unfolded it, expecting some sort of clue, but only a messy drawing greeted him. It was an animal, that's for sure, but nothing that actually existed, and the same pattern repeated with every other paper. No code here, and no cellphone either.

He then moved on to the broken canvasses, checking the pieces and trying to find any clue to some sort of code. Instead, each and every piece had a messy drawing on the front, and mindless scribble on the back of it. He squinted to analyse it and figure out what was written, but he could only get parts of it, both because of the bad writing, and how much was written all over.

'Least try got-  
Had to do something-  
A better approach-  
Symbolism?  
Has to work-  
Fucking maggots-  
What happened?'

And that was all he could read. The pattern repeated in every part of the broken canvasses, all of them had the same line of thought, some with a different wording, but all with the same discoordinated phrases.

He left it. Nothing useful, but he would keep that in mind, whoever this was, didn't seem stable.

Lastly he checked the wardrobe , looking under it, then checking inside, and he finally found something; Just way more than he expected.

"Lieutenant!! I found something!"

Why didn't he think of checking the guest room sooner? Obviously they wouldn't leave _this_ in their bedroom, or any place they had to be in constantly. If possible, Connor would be puking right now, rejecting anything he ate in the last hours. This was disgusting-

"What is it, I found some hair on the frid- Argh, Jesus christ!!" The lieutenant immediately turned back, facing the opposite direction of the closet and pushing his arm in front of his nose, even if there was no odor around. "Shit, we're dealing with a psycho..."

"I thought you were tired of red-ice dealers." Connor moved forward, pushing the feeling of dread behind him, he had to analyse the evidence.

"Yeah, but apparently for me it's either absolutely nothing or absurd shit, like deviants two years ago, the guy murdering androids, and last year with the dog hoarder and that ring, and now- This." The closet was far from messy, and everything was so neatly put in it's place it made him sick.

Those were body parts, cut in a perfect straight line, and arranged like, he felt it was wrong to even think about it that way, but it was like art. The left arm held a snow globe with pinkish flowers in it, it was positioned in a delicate way, the nails were long and well made, with soft pink nail polish, while the right arm had a green leaf necklace around it, also positioned in a delicate manner, and with the same polish. Both arms were in opposite shelves, symmetrical. The legs were on the lower part of the wardrobe, crossed over, a (f/f) marble flower pot in between. The torso and head were missing, but in the torso's place there was a wood piece with a medium cavity, where a bunch of jewelry was stuffed.

And on top, where the head would be, there was a framed photograph.

It depicted a wilting bellis perennis in a sad, dead field of various flowers. On the wilting flower, there was a danaus erippus, lowered wings, front turned to the camera, showing a bit of wing, but most of it's front. The photograph was signed.

"With love, for a future grand artists."

"Shit, this... This a bit too much... Can you find anything?" Hank had already recovered from the initial shock, forcing himself to do his job and figure out _what happened_. Connor shifted his gaze around the wardrobe, looking at every detail. It was old, there weren't many like these anymore. The room had indeed been left alone for a long while, dust covered the whole thing, but some spots where rubbed off, specifically, the handles.

"May be..." He focused on those spots, trying to identify fingerprints, but to no avail. There was nothing, so one of two things. "It's either an android, or they know how to cover up their tracks." Hank nodded, and went back outside, he needed to call back. Now.

Connor stayed behind, computing what he found.

Broken canvasses, crumpled drawings, painting and photographs everywhere, marijuana, a gun, and now this. No red ice involvement, no reports of loud noises or suspicious movement, and no odors.

No odors.

They actually took the time to create this so it wouldn't stink the whole place, but instead of burying the body, or freezing it, they used it to make this... Piece. Disturbing sculpture. Unbelievable. This was the work serial killers went through.

Connor carefully took the right arm, wincing, and he felt scared; The whole being alive thing was still new, and the concept of death felt a lot scarier now, but he never learned to process that new information. Hank did what he could when Connor had an "attack", as Hank called it, which involved Connor being still as a rock, or jerking every joint, losing balance, losing track of time, barely able to tell which direction was where, his systems going over the top, or not working at all, in a desperate attempt to compute what was happening and acting on it. The lieutenant said it was his 'brain' (he didn't actually have a brain, but Hank ignored him every time he corrected him.) trying to figure out the flight or fight instinct.

Regardless, this was not time to dwell. He shifted the arm in his hand, taking a good look. Not only was it extremely cold, but it had been cut to the shoulder, cleanly. The cut had been patched by the killer with a thin layer of light blue material, his sensors informed him it was organza, so that was not to stop the bleeding. Another detail of the 'art'? The body had been embalmed, and very well so. His program calculated this was around four days ago.

He turned it around, looking under and over, then back at where it was, and found two reasons why there wasn't any strong scents. One, there was a small scented bag just behind where it was, and two, there was a small opening in the shelf, and as soon as he put his hand over it, his sensors picked up the freezing cold air around it.

"Hank, mind helping me?" He quickly put the arm back, on the exact spot it was prior to his short analyses. Hank went back in the room, avoiding the sight of the body parts. Connor moved behind the wardrobe, and started to push forward, with Hank helping him. Easily enough, they moved it enough to reveal a small hatch under the wardrobe, with wiring going through it. "The arm is cold. The victim was embalmed," He knelt down, and opened the hatch.

Inside, not only was it a cooling system, but also a wooden box. He picked it up ad opened it, looking over to Hank once he saw what was inside.

"Looks like we have a pattern. Can you identify these?" Hank asked, trying to find more evidence around the room; There still was a cellphone to be found, but right now he wanted to figure out the pattern that they had already found; Again, a obsession with photos, all following the same style of the one in the wardrobe.

He started to scan the photographs.

"This one was take in Argentina, it's a Alectrurus risora. This belonged to the wildlife exposition of 2032." Hank grunted, a sign for him to continue. "This one also part of the same exposition. It's a Spheniscus magellanicus."

"Connor, don't tell me the useless stuff." He sighed, inching closer to the closet. "And enough with the hard names. Now, what's the tie between them?" Connor flipped through all photographs, taking in account the place they were shot, what was in the picture, when they took it, and who did it.

"It's all part of the same exposition in 2032, they all show wildlife, as I stated before... And they were all taken in Argentina."

"Anything else?" Hank grunted. There was nothing else in there. If this was the killers 'art', then they would soon be out for a second victim. They needed to find the culprit, and fast, to avoid more situations like this.

"They were all taken by the same person, (y/n) (l/n)."

"Hm. Should be in Detroit now..." He leaned closer to the butterfly photo, specifically at the signing. Obviously they wouldn't remember who they signed the picture for, but with how many leads they had to this point, that was the best shot. Hank turned around to face Connor when the android started to fidget with the box.

"I found the cellphone. It's a message," He unlocked the phone. A missed call, and two text messages. "The sender is labeled 'Mathies'. 'Someone won't be able to make it to the party, Bruce called me, said I can bring an student if I want to. You free this wednesday night?'."

"Right, let's go figure out where this guy lives, and make it fast. If push comes to shove, we bust a lil tea party."


	2. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay im pretty much freaking out with this here we go woohoo

 

Tracking the 'Mathies' guy wasn't hard; In fact, it was probably the easiest thing they ever did in the last year or so. He was an arts professor living in a nice apartment in the rich side of Detroit, no criminal record, 34 years old.

The apartment building was huge, and screamed the high status this Mathies had. With a little more research, made by Connor, they already had an idea of who they were looking for,

The picture that came with the face showed a hipster man, with a curly undercut, brown eyes, brown hair, a beard that actually made Hank curse, square glasses, and a tattoo on his neck that barely showed in the profile. Apparently, he was born in the Netherlands, moved to France at 14 years old, got his degree in Canada, then moved to New York for a while, before settling in in Detroit as a professor.

"You sure we in the right place? Don't know why someone living like this would even know someone like that..." Hank muttered looking around him. This was more expansive than his car and house together. Why did people even needed things like these, anyway?

"Yes, lieutenant. At least, that's the address they provided me with." He stated blankly. One thing Hank noticed after two years, while on duty, Connor was still in his machine mind-state, but as soon as they left, he would be either too stressed to do anything, or with too much pent up energy. Good thing Sumo liked walks, and Hank hated them.

"Alright, go ahead."

Connor took a step forward, and raised his hand to knock on the door, before he noticed the doorbell. He quickly looked at Hank, and as soon as he made eye contact he lowered his hands to ring it. Why didn't he see that right away... The first ring rewarded them with a few loud noises inside, a curse, glass shattering, and a loud thump. The second, however, actually showed Mathies Bakker.

"Ah.... Hey?..." The glasses were crooked in his face, and his hair looked exactly like a birds nest. "I'm sorry, but what's going on?"

"I'm lieutenant Anderson, this is Connor," He gestured to the android besides him, who simply nodded, in a weird greeting. Still working on social skills, after two whole years. "We have some questions about the person you called last night, mind letting us in?" Mathies looked between the two again, before nodding and getting out of the way. Hank took a good look around the house, and concluded that yes, indeed, he would work for the rest of his life, and never have anything even close to this."Nice place you got..."

"Thanks..." He sat down on the couch, and motioned for them to do the same. Hank sat down immediately, not bothering with looking even more around the house and feeling even more depressed.

Connor however, noticed the decoration around them. More specifically, the framed photos hanging in the living room. The guy must've noticed his interest, because he quickly took a look behind him and smiled at the android, a sincere smile, at that.

"You like them? A college friend gave me copies of their work." He noted, a proud look on his face once he saw them.

"... We'll get back on that later. First, you tell us who you called last night. Name, age, looks, everything." Hank stared at Mathies, eyes cutting in the mans skull. Clearly he wasn't up for bullshitting; Well he never was, but this was a clear sign of 'you ain't getting out of this one so easily.'

"I... I called a lot of guys yesterday... You gotta be more specific..." His eyes started to dart from Connor to Hank rapidly.

"At eight-thirty pm, you called someone, they left the phone hidden on the crime scene, and at eight-twenty pm, you send them a message. 'Someone won't be able to make it to the party, Bruce called me, said I can bring an student if I want to. You free this Wednesday night?'. Who was it, and where are they?"

"Wait wait wait wait, crime scene?" He looked at them as if they were mad, as if they were telling him the most absurd thing in the planet. "I-, Look, last night I called one my students, who is a big fan of my friend. He said he inspired his work in them, and I just wanted to introduce them." So it was a man, and an arts student. "Wai- Crime scene, you said? What type of crime scene?"

"You know something?" Hank butted in, calling him out for giving his student away.

"No? Yes? Ai- He stole a convenience store in the past, before becoming my student, one of his friends got him into it, he told me. But that was long ago." Mathies defended, letting slip a name.

"What's the name?"

"Just- Don't get too rough with him. He's got it hard since the start..."

"We can't promise anything." He looked at Hank, asking permission. As soon as he nodded, Connor turned back to Mathies. "Last night we got a report of suspicious behavior on your students house. We found body parts hidden inside." He went rigid, eyes wide, and mouth agape, same thing as always; Of course they didn't do it, they are great people, never would turn to that. He saw Hank scoff, not buying in the whole 'innocent' thing.

"Aiden. Aiden Griffin. He's 18 years old, has two tattoos, the solar system on his left arm, and a dream catcher on his right wrist. Last time I saw him his hair was long, around his shoulder. He's always wearing like,... Five bracelets. " He gulped, then looked back at Connor. "Aiden... He vanished, a while ago. Meet someone, got a job, locked his classes, hasn't showed up for a while. I hoped the party would bring him around..." Mathies looked back at the photo behind him. The same photo used for the head of the sculpture. A danaus erippus facing the camera, a wilting bellis perennis, in a field of death. "He is innocent. I know it."

"... One more question, Mr.Bakker... This party of yours, who is the host?"

 

\---

 

(y/n) lifted the camera, looked at their model for the day, and started to move, searching for that perfect angle that gives life to the picture, being mindful of the lighting and the background they wanted. Then, they finally started the shots, crouching down to get the best angle they could, then moved to the side, for a different view.

"Move his head a bit, please." They said to Bruce, and he did so, making the dog shift his head towards him a bit more. "Perfect."

"You know, this isn't the great change I was expecting..." He looked over. The only difference he could see was the theme going on the background. Instead of a dead field, wilting flowers, or a trash deposit, this was a normal flower field.

"Shut it, I'm still not even close to a mind blowing idea." As soon as they said that, something caught the dogs attention and he turned back, ears forward and focused. "I still don't have a muse. I don't have ideas, I have nothing..."

"Lighten up," He gestured for the dog owner to come over, gave her the leash and patted the dog a last time. "We still got time. Besides, this type of things don't come out of the blue."

"I guess..." (y/n) adjusted the lenses of the camera, randomly pointing around to see if they could find anything to give inspiration. "The perfection of being alive... Represented in a different way... What am I missing here?..." Their eyes traveled across the field, taking in every detail of the world around them, of the life that surrounded them. "I have been showing the beauty of being alive for years, and to change that.... What is the next step?" Bruce paid the woman, who thanked him and went on her way.

"Well, I can't give you the answer, but maybe you can come up with something. How about we walk around the place? Haven't been here in a while," They put their camera away and sighed, eyes focused on something else entirely.

"I need caffeine. Let's make a stop, then go to the plaza. Maybe something there can give me inspiration." Bruce smiled, and pat them in the shoulder, before both walked away from the park.

 

\---

 

After Mathies gave the name of the party host, it was fairly easy to find them. The hotel (y/n) was staying in was a five star, famous one. Except, once they arrived at the hotel, and spent almost an hour waiting for someone to show up, Hank started to realize something,

First, the event they were here for was happening in 30 days, second, they promised a surprise for the public, and third,

"Jesus, we're chasing a photographer, with a deadline..."

"Yes? I thought you knew it already, Lieutenant."

"That's not it. One of my friends was a photographer for a magazine, whenever I needed his help I needed to search the whole city. This type is always moving around with a camera." Connor stared at him for solid ten seconds, before his sight landed on the hotel receptionist; Maybe she could help?

"So what can we do to find them?"

"Well, it looks like you have an idea." Hank looked over to the reception as well. Connor shivered, then looked at the ground.

"I prefer you ask her. Most humans are still not comfortable with androids. I would like to not cause a scene." Hank groaned loudly, but walked over there nonetheless.

"Excuse me, but, do you know when (y/n) (l/n) will come back, or at least where they went?" The girl looked him over, and her eyes immediately fell on Connor, who was still sitting meters away from them.

"Lieutenant Hank Anderson, right?" She didn't look away from the computer in front of her. "I told you I don't know, they didn't say anything about where they went, or when they would be back."

"At least give me a phone number, this is important." She sighed, finally turning to him.

"M(r/s). (l/n) didn't leave any phone number with us," back at her computer, this time visibly angry. "But, if it's so important as you say, and if it means you won't be standing like two creeps around," She ripped a paper and started to scribble. "Here, this is the number of Bruce Owens, they didn't leave together, but he might know where they are. And take that with you, please." She lifted the paper to him, then stared at Connor with an annoyed look. "Have a good day, sir."

"Yeah... You too," His patience was really being tested here. He walked back to Connor, taking his phone out to call this Bruce. "Get back in the car, I'll be there in a minute." Connor nodded and quickly got up, making a straight line towards the car, and practically throwing himself in, even going as far as lowering himself on the seat, trying to disappear. Seems like the looks he got still were a bit too much.

 

\---

 

Bruce snarled to himself, trying to balance the order in his arms, although most of it was for him to blame, as (y/n) was only having their coffee, he wanted to eat as much as possible; This could very well be his only meal for the day. How his boss could stand going the whole day without eating almost anything, that was beyond him.

As soon as he forced his way towards the table and set down their drink, he started to count what he brought for himself.

"One omelette, a plate of waffles, toast and eggs, pancakes, hot chocolate, orange juice, and what is that you're holding with your mouth?"

"Ish justh ot-" He slowly and carefully set every plate down, the omelette was in his left hand, the waffles and pancakes just above on his left, the two drink on his right hand, one more inch and they would spill, and his toast was just behind that as well, and the last was held in his mouth, supported by his shoulder. As soon as he managed to put everything down without making a complete mess, he took a single spoon out of his pocket. It was childish looking, blue with cartoon tigers all over the base. "It's just oatmeal with strawberries." He first pulled the cereal towards him, and started to eat it like a starving man. That spoon was completely ridiculous.

"Why do you carry that with you, anyways?" (y/n) calmly took a sip of their coffee, considering to take a bit of something. It's not like Bruce could even eat all of that right? Wrong, he could, and he would, but only a bite wouldn't kill anyone. He gulped down that spoonful, and just barely answered.

"You never worked at a restaurant? I do not trust these people with hygiene."

"Eating their food, from their plate. Seems pointless to me." Bruce stopped to look them dead in the eye, only breaking his stare once his phone started ringing.

"Food is well maintained, utensils go in so many people mouths, I don't trust it." He got up and walked outside, leaving his food unattended.

"It is cleaned, I stand my ground." Not bad at all, his choice was rich and with so much it was a mystery how he could even bring it all back without help. "Don't mind if I do," They mumbled, stealing the (food) from Bruce, sneaking away to grab a fork and eat in peace.

Sadly, they weren't a food vacuum like him, and was not even 1/3 in when he came back, and stared at them with a look of betrayal, muttering under his breath about not ever trusting again, then sat down and kept eating his food.

"Just for the record, that wasn't a curator, or the head of the event, or a client, that was the police, calling on my phone." (y/n) started to cough, surprised, then looked at him like a deer staring at headlights.

"Wait, what? Why?"

"Lieutenant something, investigating a crime on the poor side of Detroit, he wanted to ask you somethings, but you weren't at the hotel and didn't leave your number. Called me, asked where we are, and I told him we would be in the plaza in five minutes." (y/n) frowned, looking at Bruce as if asking what the hell was it with him.

"One, I don't get how I could know anything, as I've landed three days ago, and two, five minutes? What are you going to do with th-" He grabbed the bowl and lifted it to his mouth, gulping down the rest of his food, then immediately went to the next, devouring it with vigor. "Forget it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce does a ((devour))


	3. Psychotic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to take so long, I'm sorry.

Connor scanned the plaza with nervous eyes, but not to find who he was looking for, rather to avoid most humans. It's not even that people said or did anything, only their looks would set him on edge. He didn't need an 'attack' in public area, those took longer to pass, sometimes not entirely; But this time he lucked out, no one really paid attention to him. And while that put him at ease, it felt weird, in a nice way, but still something he wasn't used to, therefore he still felt weary.

Hank pulled his arm once Connor started to lag behind, snapping him out of his own internal thoughts; The old man could already see the person they were after, so he only needed Connor to stay calm and walk over there; Once his mind went back to the investigation, he would be out of the danger zone.

The photographer was kneeling down, camera pointed towards a tall man, who was looking down with closed eyes. From his point of view, it looked weird, there was no way that could result in a decent picture. Well, he wasn't the one whose career dependent on it, or the professional, much less a loved idol, so he ignored it. He was just over-analysing stuff, so maybe try to shift his focus on the interrogation.

 

"Excuse me, I'm lieutenant Hank Anderson, this is Connor. We have a few questions, about an Aiden Griffin." The man sitting was their employee, Bruce Owens, born 15 August 2004. His picture on the database was with a different hair, longer and fluffier, with way more volume, but his current style was less exaggerated. He got up and went to shake Hank's hand, while the photographer turned their camera off, then looked at them.

 

"Bruce Owens, nice to meet you. Oh, this is (y/n) (l/n)," They held out their hand to Hank. Once they introduced themselves, Connor took over, going straight to the point.

 

"We know that this may not lead us anywhere, but I was hoping you could help us with an investigation, involving a man named Aiden Griffin. Is the name familiar?" They sat down, closed their eyes and hummed for a few seconds.

 

"A friend mentioned him once. Said it was his brilliant student, inspired his work on my photos. That's all I know." Their eyes then looked over at Hank. "Besides, I've been in Detroit for three days only, spend the whole time just getting everything ready for the event. I really don't know anything about him, and Mathies only sent a text asking if he could bring him to the party." Hank grunted, took a few aimless steps to the left and stopped again, trying to find something to point them in the right direction.

 

"What about your work?"

 

"Excuse me? I don't see how that can tie to anything," Their tone went from calm to defensive in a split second. Noted, (y/n) did not like when Hank used that tone to refer to their photographs, "I am well aware my photos aren't 'ideal' for most, but it's not hurting anyone, or 'inspiring' someone to commit a crime." When they started to get a bit aggressive, Bruce stepped in, doing his best to calm them down.

 

"Hey, come on, I doubt that's what Lieutenant Anderson tried to say, in fact," Connor's LED flashed yellow, then quickly went back to blue. He had an idea.

 

"'Forgettable'." For the first time since they arrived, (y/n) actually acknowledged his presence, (e/c) eyes snapping in his direction and fixing on him for a long time. "The name of the photo in the crime scene. Forgettable. What does it mean?" They were still silent, eyes darting to try and figure him out, but it seemed the fact he was an android still didn't help; They were about to give in, but then their eyes went sharp again.

 

"It's just a photo, an old one at that. There's plenty of copies all around." They crossed their arms, not happy with the situation. But he needed to insist on it.

 

"It was signed. 'With love, for a future grand artist', is this familiar?" They rolled their eyes, still not convinced.

 

"I write that every time someone says they're studying to become an artist, it's special to them, but not memorable. Like saying 'Are you okay?' to someone who's crying." He had to insist more, maybe with a different approach.

 

"The picture was of a wilting bellis perennis, on a field of other flowers, with a danaus erippus on top, facing the camera with lowered wings. The picture was taken in Argentina, December of 2031. It was part of a wildlife exposition in march 2032, the star of the collection." They raised an eyebrow, and Connor honestly didn't know what else to do to make them give in. "A daisy, and a monarch butterfly,"

 

"That's, wow, you've either made some research, or a very advanced android." (y/n) was done. They wouldn't be giving Connor what he wanted. What was the point of insisting? Might as well try and get them to be at least warm towards him.

 

"Both, actually. I'm a pro- I, I mean. Uh-" Shit, no, he was a prototype, yes, but he wasn't supposed to say that. Or was he? Was this still considered being part of program? Was he just following protocol? "Hm... I'm sorry. That- I just- Sorry." He looked down, frowning. He wasn't supposed to follow his program ever again, but only saying what he was already made Connor uncomfortable. A prototype android, send by Cyberlife. That was stuck in his head, always, but he never even noticed how much it really bothered him until he was on the verge of panicking.

 

"It showed how little we really care, how the most beautiful things are easily forgotten." He looked back up, shocked. That was it? How? What changed their mind? He didn't know, but the look they gave him was certainly interesting, a small smile on their lips, and (e/c) eyes fixed on him, like he just did something revolutionary. Hank looked between the two, how (y/n) looked fascinated, and how Connor was utterly lost, trying to process what happened and how to repeat the results.

 

"What about the other ones? Do you remember them, Connor?"

 

"I... Yes, yes I do." They gave him a more sympathetic smile, as if they wanted him to continue. "T-the... Alectrurus risora, in the rain." Hank gave him a look, warning him. "Sorry lieutenant." The older man muttered a curse at him anyway. "Strange-tailed tyrant, in the rain, on a wooden post, lower head, titled Judged."

 

"Hm. A small action overcomes it all, and nothing can ever repair it. It was quite the workout to follow the bird, though." 

 

"The last one was a bleeding magellanic penguin, it was lying down, with the sea and rocks as background, Grief. Was it the same?"

 

"Uhm... Kind of. Years of work, turned to dust. He had been hurt by a boat, but lived, just laid down to catch his breath." They made a pause, then stared down at him, and suddenly Connor felt tiny, without voice. "You know, they all represent the same thing," There was a glint in their eyes, something he only saw once, when Markus gave his speech on the day they won their freedom, but Connor doubted it had the same reason behind it; The determination was clear for him. Meanwhile, Bruce had a look of betrayal on his face, like they were sharing a secret with Connor and Hank. "Something so beautiful, so full of life, so perfect, being corrupted by humanity, and yet, not destroyed, still carrying withing the perfection that it is, being alive." Connor didn't know how to respond, so he relied on the usual routine,

 

"... Thank you for your cooperation." He fixed his tie, already getting ready to leave them to continue their photographs, but (y/n) decided to plant the seed of uneasiness on him, with a simple phrase.

 

"You might be part of them, after all."

 

\---

 

Once in the car, Connor started to go through what they learned. Three pictures, with roughly the same meaning, for the same gallery. Although he couldn't prove anything, he suspected that the murder was trying to recreate that, in some way. But, there was the catch, (y/n) said all of the mentioned photos had the same base, something alive was corrupted, but kept going on, still living.

 

"Didn't get much from that." Hank started the car, letting a few cars pass before driving to the street. "Guess that was a waste of time, hu." He moved to turn his music on, blasting Knights of the Black Death for everyone to hear.

 

"Not what I expected, but I do have a guess..." He murmured, the images of the house repeating for him to analyse them for the milionth time. "But... Something doesn't fit."

 

"Is it the mutilated body, the lack of fingerprints, an art obsession?" Hank let out a dry laugh, and it reminded Connor that no matter how much time passed, some things can't be fixed. Hank wouldn't just stop his weird humor or suicidal behavior, but, he was proud to say it, there had been less rounds of Russian roulette since he (forcibly) moved in. Forcibly, by Hank dragging him towards the house.

 

"Mathies said Ainden had been gone for months, and the room was covered in dust. No one had been there in a long time." Hank nodded, that lined up. His eyes focused on the road ahead of him, but he still paid close attention to what was being said. "But the body was fresh, and the wardrobe had considerably less dust than the rest of the room."

 

"Maybe he just popped back in the house to do his work?"

 

"Can't be it. Only the wardrobe had been messed with, the rest of the house was practically abandoned. And, if he's so obsessed with (y/n) work, why let the opportunity to meet them slip?" Connor looked out the window, his LED changed to yellow. He was missing something important, but what?

 

"Maybe he'll go there anyway. He knew they were coming to Detroit, and obviously that his teacher and (y/n) knew each other..."

 

"Your conclusion?" Connor went silent for a moment, considering his options. Sadly, each second that passed, raised the chances of another murder taking place.

 

"We can't waste time."

 

\---

 

(y/n) watched as Bruce growled, bouncing his leg with an agitated look. They didn't need to think twice to know why he was acting like that.

 

"Don't get so upset. It's just an android. A detective at that," They looked around the plaza, searching for a good place for a photo. Or anything that could give them an ounce of inspiration.

 

"We both agreed to never share it, that it would be fun to see what people came up with!" He whined, crossing his arms like an overgrown kid. It would be funny, if it wasn't so annoying to talk about this.

 

"Relax, like I said, an android that works with the police. It is far from being interested in our job." They let out a huff, accepting the fact this plaza had nothing to offer. "Come on, let's try somewhere else. We still have a few hours before it gets too dark."

 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, get this over with, I don't want to talk about it." Oh, the temptation to mess with him was huge, but the deadline screamed louder in their head. Specially without any ideas of what to do.

 

How to represent the beauty of life, in a completely new way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters might take a long time to come out, but they will.
> 
> In the future,
> 
> Sorry.


	4. Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: Save your damn work when it rains.

He was getting old.

That has to be it.

Hank rubbed his face, _again_ , still searching for Aiden. Once he went back to the DPD, he went straight to his desk and started searching. The picture that came with the name was recent, but to find him... Aiden was a young man, if anything, he had a tired look, a bit of stubble on his chin, light brown eyes, and no one had seen him in the last month.

Hank tried calling every number associated with the guy, and if they didn't go straight to voicemail, then no one picked up at all.

Connor looked at him from across his desk, but as soon as he saw Hank was just about to flip the whole city upside down, and drag the whole DPD station down with him, he went back to his own work. It was better to leave the Lieutenant alone when he was frustrated like that.

The android quickly returned to his own research, pulling out any archive that had even mentioned Aiden, even his family, no matter how distant. They couldn't afford to leave anything behind, soon enough the media would be aware of the murder, and if things exploded before they could track him down, it would be much harder later. He would be even more careful not to leave traces behind, and if it was hard without him knowing they were after him, it would be near impossible if he knew.

While Connor and Hank struggled to find the guy, on the desk across from them, Gavin was trying to find the victims family, but he was just as lucky.

 

"Hold on, I think I got something..." Hank muttered, in his fourth call of the day, to contact Aiden. If he at least picked up, they could locate him, and go from there, but so far no such luck. Connor paused his search again, in favor of watching. He had already told Hank it was useless, but he kept insisting; There was only a 10% chance of him picking it up. "Holy- Ahem, This is Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit police,-" He signaled for Connor to find the location, while he distracted him. "Is this Aiden Griffin?"

 

" _Detroit Police?_ " A few seconds of silence, then a disheartened tone, " _No, I am terribly sorry. This is not Aiden Griffin. My name is Samael,_ "The voice belonged to a man, it was smooth and charming, and it honestly made Hank very uncomfortable. " _He worked for a short while,_ " A sigh, and Hank signaled for Connor to give it up, it wasn't worth it. " _Vanished without a trace. But, he was a suspicious fellow. Always walking in the darkest areas, meddling where he should not,_ " Another sigh, this time Hank was seriously considering just hanging up, but if this Samael worked with Aiden, he probably knew something else.

 

"Do you know anything that might help us locate him?" The man hummed, then started to talk again,

 

" _Well, he was obsessed with a photographer, and mentioned a party. Maybe he will go? If not, perhaps, his friends house, a lovely young lady, a flower really, her name was Maya Summers, was very delicate, had beautiful eyes._ " Hank looked over to Gavin, craning his neck to see what was in his terminal. Sure enough, the name on it was Maya Summers. Once he turned back he noticed Connor standing a bit too close, desperate to hear everything that was said.

 

"We'll check it. Thanks for your uh, help."

 

" _It is my pleasure, Lieutenant Anderson. I hope you have a wonderful day, and please, do find Aiden, he is not someone to trust._ " He ended the call. Weird man, but now they had an idea of what to look for.

 

"Weird..." Connor muttered, walking over to Gavin's desk and snatching a file, much to the detective's displeasure, but a quick stare coming from Fowler, who was sitting nearby, made him go silent.

 

"What is it this time?" Hank got up and started to walk to the break room. He needed to drink, but the most he could get at this hour, and with Connor around was a coffee, so so be it.

 

"Samael said that Maya _WAS_ a lovely young lady, that she _WAS_ very delicate, that she _HAD_ beautiful eyes." He handed the file to Hank, and continued, "Her death isn't public yet, no one should know she is dead. Gavin still wasn't able to contact her family." Hank nodded, then handed the file back to Connor and went to make his coffee.

 

"It could be that, or he just choose the wrong words, nothing to be stressing about." Connor sat down, shaking his head.

 

"You're right... I'm... Feeling paranoid lately..." Hank drank his coffee, and made for Connor to continue. "It's been going on since the androids disappearance, last month."

 

"Hm, so you think it's gonna happen to you?"

 

"Not exactly... I think it just made me realise..." He sighed, trying to find the right way to put it. ".... How human we really became... Androids are being kidnapped, there's a black market for parts, some for sexual purposes... It's... Just like humans..." Hank set his cup down, not really expecting that. He thought Connor would say he was scared, that he was angry, that he was disgusted, but not that it was oddly human. "I'm sorry. That wasn-"

 

"You're right. Androids are being tore apart and sold like merchandise, just like humans do to other humans. But," He put his hand on Connor's shoulder, offering the smallest smile, "That's our job right? Find and stop the bastard doing this."

 

Connor smiled back. He could do it, he would find Aiden, and whoever was taking Androids.

 

\---

 

The quiet afternoons were the best time to sketch some ideas, be them for photography, or just random stuff. Just get a blank page and start imagining things. Some were just random bits and pieces of ideas, that floated by every now and again, others actual messy sketches of what they wanted to photograph, and lastly gibberish, just scribbles of phrases and quotes that rarely passed by.

Well, now nothing was passing by, not with Bruce vibrating a few centimeters away. His leg was bouncing anxiously and he was biting his thumb, green eyes a bit too focused on the phone in his hand. They asked him to check over the mail, wrap it up for today and get ready for the headaches of tomorrow. Why plan the party anyway? That was a bad idea.

 

"You okay there? Looking a bit pale," They lifted their upper body, notebook resting on their belly with the pencil still in hand.

 

"... Yeeeah.... Not even a bit... Look," He gave them the cellphone, and went back to biting his nail. "I get it, sometimes people go overboard with their messages, but that's a bit..."

 

_'Evening, (y/n) (l/n),_

__

__

_I must say, after following your work since the beginning, I can not wait to see what you have in store for the Grand Arts, I am sure it will be as astonishing as always.'_

__

__

 

"Aaaaand.... What am I supposed to see here again?"

 

"Keep reading, I'm calling security."

 

_'I have tried my hand on the arts and crafts as well, but to bring what I want to life, it's rather difficult, and comes with many judgmental stares, I would love to know how you cope with such heavy criticism, but enough about that._

_I watched you talk to an android yesterday, and it gave me an idea of what my next step should be. These things are hard to catch, but I only saw them as a source of money before, although, now, I think they can be used for my projects as well._

_In another note,_

_You looked like an angel._

_I heard before of people that talked to you about a sharp stare, wild eyes, that you could see even the minimal detail._

_I don't doubt that now._

_Here is a sketch of my next project, what do you think?'_

 

The drawing was rough, and the anatomy lacked severely, but nonetheless it made the message very, very clear.

A man sat atop a throne made of corpses, there were arms and arms behind him, each holding either a royal object, or an organ. Below the man, people knelt down, their eyes cut out and mouths wide open, revealing rows of sharp teeth. They were naked, and in their bodies they sported symbols and more symbols; They had claws on their hands, and their fingers were sewed together. On top of the drawing, bones, ribs, made up a chandelier of hell, and even if it wasn't drawn in there, the sickly image was carved into their mind, and they could see it.

They could see the bodies, twisted and turned and burned and destroyed, making for a throne for the devil, the people bellow not adoring, but begging for their lives, while blood oozed out of the symbols, freshly carved into their skin, never to be wiped. They could see metal adorning their bodies, digging into their flesh, their mouth unnaturally so filled with teeth that didn't belong in there, they couldn't close their mouths, their sewed fingers couldn't close, they were so _unnatural_ , so sickly mangled, it made their head swirl. Above it all, the ribs and bones, they still bleed, as if they were freshly harvested, and it dripped down.

 

Slowly.

 

Slowly.

 

Until it reached the man in the throne.

 

A faceless figure, that made all this hell, that created suffering from the ground, and built up his castle to above, he was sat on top of all the pain, and he smiled; Without any other features, even not knowing who this was, they knew it.

 

He was so damn satisfied with himself, he couldn't help it but smile.

 

"What... The actual fuck is this..."

 

It was starting to feel as if coming to Detroit was a big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this ready for Monday, was just making sure there were no major errors, and that everything was in order, when the light's went off. So, there goes around half the chapter, straight to the void. 
> 
> In another news, I'll be back to school next week, so that's a thing. Hopefully the trauma of losing half my work will make me save every minute or so.


	5. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **crawls out of pit** ta-dah * _traumatized jazz hands_

Connor had a thing with the rain.

 

He didn’t know if it was a good, or bad thing, but he knew it was definitely something. It wasn’t even the feeling of rain, mostly the atmosphere it created, as he couldn’t care less about how it was messy, and wet, and how it could make someone sick. It also felt safer, in a weird way. When it rained, people were quick to run back home, which meant less people he had to worry about.

 

But, what really got him to dislike the rain was what it represented to him.

 

The first time he felt the rain, he was looking for Hank, still an obedient machine, later, he went to the crime scene, accomplished his mission, and signed the fate of the nameless HK400. Next time, he chased a deviant, Kara, for wanting to be free, still a machine, later that day, he tried to fix his relationship with Hank, while it rained, and he was _still_ acting. Nothing he said during that conversation was “Connor”, it was just his program, running numbers, analyzing outcomes, trying to figure out what would fix the situation. Then, going to the Eden Club, realizing what happened to Hank’s son, Cole, and just not being able to think of anything that wasn’t his investigation!

Yes, the rain was also linked with his meeting with Hank, but it always reminded him of being a machine. Taking orders. No questions asked.

He really wanted it to snow soon. That held some fond memories. When it began to snow, two years ago, he started to feel less like a machine, that was when his choices felt more like his, and less like programmed reactions. They also gained their first victory when it snowed.

And, speaking of snow, and cold, right now he had to deliver some materials to Markus sanctuary, a place for androids to rest and gather themselves before joining society. It was no surprise to anyone that all around there were still androids being found serving humans, or abandoned ones wondering about, some partially broken.

Markus asked him if Connor could pick up some parts, bio-components, blue blood, all the like, as he couldn’t really leave for the time being. And Connor couldn’t refuse, he was (or at least felt) responsible for a big part of the revolution. If he hadn’t showed up with the CyberLife androids, and completely changed the numbers, who knew what would’ve happened?

 

“HOLY SHIT WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING PSYCHOPATH!!” He turned to the source of the sound. He saw a man crossing the road, sluggish movements, kind of swaying, and Connor immediately saw the man was drunk. Once he looked at who was yelling, he got surprised. It was (y/n), on a very well kept, even if old Camry Xle. It was black, and he was surprised at how well kept it was, considering the age.

 

He stood where he was, waiting for the light to turn green. He used the opportunity to watch the photographer, they parked the car, not near anything in particular, just parked there and started to fidget.

The signal turned green.

He went straight ahead, trying to ignore the nagging in his mind, he wanted to talk to them, for whatever reason, but he needed to go and deliver the parts earlier, so he could go back to work. Still, he really wanted to go talk to them, they were intriguing. He checked the time.

 

.

.

.

He walked over to their car.

 

As soon as he approached the car, he started hearing them cursing and mumbling.

 

“Hello.” He greeted, still not too close from their car. (y/n) jumped from their seat, gasping in surprise.

 

“Is everything trying to give me a damn heart attack?!” They growled, but not quite at him. “I swear, it’s like the whole city wants me to find my damn way out of here.” Their eyes finally meet Connor, and he again felt cornered. It was like if he moved any inch, they would go full on attack on him, even if the thought was completely irrational, that look screamed ‘danger’ to him. “What’s up, mule detective?”

 

“Mule?”

 

“Stubborn.” They sighed, then looked at a scrap of paper on their hand, and groaned. “Gonna be poking me for more info? Look, I’ve got nothing more for you on Aladdin.”

 

“Aiden. I just wanted to talk.”

 

“Whatev-” They paused. Then stared at him like he was from another world, something that couldn’t exist. “You… WANTED…. To talk?”

 

“Yes. I noticed you parked, but didn’t go anywhere. I figured you could spare some time and talk.” He smiled, but what made him really excited when he noticed the curve on his lips was that he didn’t had to think about smiling, it just happened. He felt alive when things like that happened, without him even noticing.

 

“I… I guess… Hey, you’re carrying what? Looks heavy.” He looked down at the bags. They weren’t that heavy, they weighted almost nothing.

 

“It’s just some parts I have to bring somewhere.”

 

“Does it happen to be where a android named Markus is?” Wait, what?

 

“Ah… Yes… Actually…” He took one step back, already feeling nervous.

 

“Wait, you think that I- Look you overgrown roomba, two years ago, you were the single android in front of a fucking army, which just so happened to be going directly towards the revolution leader. It isn’t hard to see that you have some connections to Jericho. Now that this is out the way,” They leaned towards the window, and handed him the slip of paper. Connor took a moment to notice it, still processing how they remembered _that_

 

It was the address to the Sanctuary.

 

“You know Carl Manfred? Well, his son just walked up to me the other day, almost crying, and told me he wanted to fix something, something he knew his dad wanted, and told me to look for Markus at this address. Apparently, talking to the microwave will magically poof my lack of inspiration into dust.”

 

“... You mean Leo Manfred?” He took the paper.

 

‘ _Sacred Grounds, the old church by the water_

_Might find your inspiration._

 

“Look, I can’t find my way around this people-infested city, so how about you give me directions, and I give you a ride?” They winked at him, but he highly doubted it was a friendly gesture. He sighed, handing the paper back. “So?”

 

“Fine.” They smirked, and unlocked the car door for him. Connor scanned the area, just to make sure. Few people hurrying home, or to work. No one peeking from conners, no one following him, and the photographer, even if not exactly pleased by the situation, seemed harmless. “The first left.” They snorted.

 

“Roger that, detective.” The car started, and away they went. (y/n) focusing on the road, eventually looking at him, and Connor focused on them.

 

The road towards the church was silent, save for Connor eventual directions, quietly informing (y/n) of where to turn next. Eventually, though, they got fed up with the silence, and turned some music on, not extremely loud, like Lieutenant Anderson, it was just ambient music, soft melodies. It was rather pleasant. 

 

The rest of the drive towards the church felt much less stressing.

 

\---

 

“It’s here.” He pointed to the old, almost decayed building. Connor was half expecting the photographer to flip in disgust, as the place was indeed in needs of renovation, but they simply couldn’t afford it, not right now. He didn’t know how to take the actual response.

 

“Holy shit, this place is the perfect background. Carl’s kid was right!” They quickly threw the door open, taking an umbrella from under the seat and jumped off, waiting for the android to leave the car so they could turn on the alarm. “This is an instant 10 for me, let’s see what else this place is offering!” They walked over to Connor, lifting the umbrella so he wouldn’t be completely soaked by the rain. “Lead the way, Detective.”

 

“Ha, okay, ‘cadet’.” He knew trying to joke around with them was walking on thin ice, but it left his lips before he could even process what was being said. He stole a shy look towards them, and was surprised to see not a grimace, or a frown, rather a grin, borderline on a evil smirk, but better than being the target of their bad mood, apparently.

 

Maybe he could do some research on them as well, just to walk on the safe side.

He started to walk towards the church, bag in hands, and photographer by his side, making sure he wouldn’t be drenched on the short walk there. He noticed, though, a small quirk on their appearance. Right now, they were dressed in a simple manner, either not to call attention, or just a simple preference, that didn’t matter. What did matter, was that they were using a shirt for warmer weather, pants and boots, but on their left arm, he noticed a long sleeve, black, a glove? That couldn’t possibly be something out of a fashion magazine, at least nothing of this decade, according to his past researches. What was really unsettling was that they only used the glove on their left arm. Looking back at their previous interaction, he could easily recall it being there.

Added that to things to check when looking for information on them.

 

“Hey pinocchio, you still on this realm?” He blinked twice, noticing they were in front of the church’s doors now, and the photographer waving their arm in front of his face.

 

“... Yes, yes, sorry. Spaced out for a moment.” He turned to push the doors open and made his way inside, trying to ignore what just happened. Now it was official, they obviously saw him as an incapable individual who couldn’t focus properly at his tasks. Great. He quickened his pace, putting distance between them, but he could still hear what they said.

 

“Spaced out, hu… Sounds human…” Nothing more than a murmur. Maybe they didn’t even want him to hear it.

 

For a second, his feet stopped working, and he had to stop and rethinking about the building, so he could figure out which way to go. There were few androids sitting about, some accompanied, some completely alone, few with thirium staining their clothes, some missing a limb or two. He became used to the sight after so many visits, didn’t mean it hurt any less, to know he could probably have prevented these situations, had he been more effective at his job.

Connor looked back at the photographer, to make sure they were following him, and they were. Well, more or less. They were going in his direction, but their eyes were focused on the other androids, and he was reminded of the times reporters would come to the sanctuary to show what was like for androids.

 

It was nothing like seeing (y/n) react to it.

 

The reporters were usually teary eyed, their voices cracked, sometimes they pretended to be sympathetic, but not (y/n).

Their eyes didn’t fill with tears, rather, it seemed they went drier, hollow. (e/c) eyes were no longer sharp and witty, it left for a unsettling understanding of the situation.

 

But it wasn’t an act.

 

They usually held a proud stance, defensive, confident of themselves, but not lowering they guard.

 

Now?

 

Someone could come running with a knife straight in their directions, screaming and wild and they wouldn’t bat an eye.

 

It felt wrong.

 

“Didn’t know you had places for them to crash for a while. That’s… Considerate, I guess…” They murmured, quickly catching up to him.

 

“Uhm, yeah, we are kind of… Responsible for them, right?” He risked a glance, and just as fast as it appeared, the kind and calm person he saw was gone, with the blink of an eye.

 

“Not really.” Connor slowed down, waiting for them to continue, but instead they just started to mess with their camera, not indicating they were interested in the conversation anymore.

 

Okay then, moving on before it gets worse.

 

He went up the stairs, (y/n) still behind him, even if now not so eager to chat. There, he found the door, leading to the room that served as Markus “office”. Connor took a last look behind him, this time, they were staring right at him, again with the burning stare. It wasn’t exactly threatening, but at the same time, it certainly was not comforting.

He knocked on the door, then pushed it open when he heard Markus ‘come in’. He guessed he was alone now.

 

“Good evening, Markus.” He entered the office, not noticing his companion wasn’t so eager to follow now. “I bought the parts you asked for.” He heard the other android sigh, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

 

“It’s good to see you Connor. I was in need of some good news…” Connor placed the bag on the ground, being careful not to damage anything, then sat down, cocking his head to the side slightly. What could possibly get so under Markus skin to make him like this? “Leo send a message. It was pretty vague, but knowing him, you know what good comes out of it…”

 

“A message?” He straightened up, looking back, only to realize (y/n) wasn’t inside, but he could guess they weren’t far. Maybe they noticed a painting on the wall, and were taking a look. Was that a photographer thing? Stop to look at every detail? Maybe, it would make sense. “... Did it happen to mention a visit?”

 

“Well, yes, how di-”

 

“Holy fucking shit…” He turned to the sound of the voice, and saw (y/n) slowly creeping inside the office, eyes fixed in the painting, hanging on the left wall of the room.

 

Connor remembered asking Markus about it, another moment in his life he desired to know something only for the sake of it. He told him it was his first actual painting, something that Carl encouraged him to do. Connor could easily tell that it meant a lot for Markus.

It showed a human and android hands, reaching for one another on a blue-grey background. It was something, but he doubted he could put actual words to describe what it showed without saying absolute nonsense.

 

“This is incredible…” (e/c) eyes finally shined with admiration, and Connor felt his body stiffen. They turned to the two androids. “Who made this?” Their voice was soft, not demanding, and not in power like a few moment ago. Markus straightened his back.

 

“I did.”

 

They then turned to the side, and their eyes locked on the other painting of the office, this one was made by Carl himself, something Markus salvaged, the original piece. The one in question, Connor remembered, was kept in Carl’s room, it was a face with closed eyes, painted in yellows, blues and pinks, in a pink, black and blue background.

 

“... This one was painted by Carl, wasn’t it?” From where he stood, Connor couldn’t see their face, but he could hear the emotion in their voice. “One of his first paintings after that… Well, ‘pause’ of his…” They turned to look back at Markus, and again, the eyes blazed with fire. “You said you painted that one? I guess it would make sense. I can see a lot of Carl’s style on it. Looks great.” While their eyes burned, the voice was soft, as if they couldn’t praise him properly, but also didn’t want to sound heartless. Markus looked at them, then back down and huffed, looking over at Carl’s painting.

 

“(y/n), right? I would never expect you of all people to show up at an android sanctuary.” Connor frowned. What did he mean by that?

 

“Hmph, seems like you know a bit about me already. This makes things easier. Leo told me I would find some inspiration here. He wasn’t wrong, but it’s not what I was searching for. I’m-” They looked back in Connor’s direction, and suddenly their expression changed from mildly annoyed to extremely surprised, as if they just found the answer to all of their problems. Connor tilted his head, not understanding what went in their head. “... It.... Could actually look… Quite nicely, yes…” They muttered, pupils darting from Connor to something else. “Connor, I guess I could give you a ride back, I’ll be in the car… I need to call someone, have fun on your bff meeting here.” Then they darted out, speed walking with a twitch in their left eye.

 

“... What was that all about?”

 

“You’re asking me? You’re the one who apparently knew them beforehand.” Markus pointed out.

 

“What about the ‘Never expected to see you here’ part?” He asked, already fishing for his coin.

 

“You didn’t know?” His eyes went wide, the blue one kind of standing out of place. No matter how compatible, some parts just looked slightly different when in different mod- Androids.

 

“Know what?” Connor lifted his coin, ready to throw it in the air.

 

“They despise androids, with all their heart.”

 

_Clink_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about my school: Once you're a sophomore/junior (the system is different here) all the year activities are automatically throw in your class. So yeah, planning the events, executing them, keeping up with homework and everything, plus a bitch brain that refuses to produce decent amounts of serotonin+dopamine, and no means of having one bit of oxytocin, kind of get to you at some point, who could've guessed lol


	6. Humans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuses, I just suck

A loud honk sounded across the street, lasting for solid ten seconds, before (y/n) lifted their head from the wheel, pulling their phone out. This couldn't be happening...

You:   
"Found the damned muse."

M'dude:   
"Ay!! Ain't that a good thing tho? :T"

You:   
"It was supposed to be. It's really not."

M'dude:   
"Explain, im not following"

You:   
"It's an android."

M'dude:   
[photo]

It was just him with a poker face. (y/n) could identify his girlfriend in the background, drinking something. Were they on a date?

You:   
"I'm serious. My muse, is, literally, the detective android that asked about that aladdin dude."

M'dude:   
"Aiden. For someone who can see minimum detail in the crappiest quality, u suck at names."

You:   
"Fuck off."

M'dude:   
"Aye, and I'm also the legitimate heir to the throne. Who is the muse?"

You:   
"The Detective Android."

M'dude:   
"so u not messing w me?"

You:   
"No."

M'dude:   
"'kay, I'll call u back, this is nutz bye"

 

They collapsed on top of the wheel again, groaning in distress. Now what? Are androids alive? How can one create life from artificial intelligence? They mimic emotions, they are fooled by their own code, and that's it.

Or maybe not.

Things that live make mistakes.

The android got lost in his thoughts. It thought coming over to talk to them would be a pleasurable experience, and that was contradictory. If it was really 'perfect', with no flaws, then it would serve as enough evidence that it had chances of being alive, and good ones at that.

Then again, it remembered all the details from their work, and that was perfect. The normal perfect, the perfect everyone thought was good. The disgusting type of perfect. Just thinking about it made them shiver with displeasure. Who in their right mind would think someone that never made any mistakes was good? It should send all kinds of red alarms.

"(y/n)?" They jumped at the new voice, and looked to their side. "Oh.. It's... It's really you... Wow, I... Uhm... I was not expecting I would meet you here..." It started to mumble, as if trying to find what it was supposed to do next. "I'm really making it worse..."

"No, please, forget it," They put their phone down, willing to try something out. "So, what's up? You're a fan or a creepy stalker from the internet?" It let out a laugh, apparently relaxing. It's posture actually changed, and they felt like working out a few hypothesis before jumping to any conclusions, but so far, things were looking pretty... Interesting, to say the least.

"Just a fan, sorry, nothing too exciting about it," _That's what you think_. "I'm Simon, by the way,"

"Well, you already know my name." They looked back to the building. "I guess you're pretty important over there, right? I mean, I-I saw your name, it was in a list in Markus office... You take care of the.. Ahem, hurt androids, right?"

"Ah... Yes, actually!" He smiled. Actually _smiled_ , like any other of the human fans that would talk to them. Obviously, androids have smiled since before any of them could pass the Turing test. Well, remembering the test made this little experiment pointless. Of course the android could pass as human.

Right before they could continue the mostly one-sided exchange, Connor left the building, making his way towards their car with a hint of hurry. The android besides them noticed Connor and smiled at him.

_Stop it._

"Hey Connor. I got the rest of the parts, guess we'll have enough for everyone!" The blond android moved towards Connor.

"That's great Simon! Uh, also, I'll have to talk to you later..." Connor looked towards (y/n), but they where looking towards the street, completely ignoring both androids.

"Really?... You usually don't have much to say to me... But sure, I have some helpers, I'll be done as soon as I get these parts inside!" He waved at Connor, then left, leaving just Connor, and the photographer.

He made some background research while still with Markus about (y/n). And he was right, (y/n) didn't like androids one bit from what he found. When the first deviants started to show up, back in 2038, he found they kept insisting that it was the most unnatural thing ever, that it was absolutely crazy, _Machines suddenly are alive? Give me a break,_ were the words they used. Then, later on, when the androids got the support from a large group of people, and some of their fans tried to get them to act in some form to help spread the message, they outright refused, not caring about keeping a nice profile. It kept going, on and on. The words just floated around him, and he felt scared. This was someo-

"Hey, you're still on this realm?" Connor shook his head, then looked at them. He couldn't let them guess what he already knew. He didn't know why, but he felt that this lie was rather comfortable, for the both of them. He opened the door and hopped in, and they started the car right after. "Where do I drop you off at?" Their voice was monotonous. He didn't expect anything else.

"At the station, I'll... I'll give you directions." They made a sound of confirmation, them drove towards the street, but going much slower than what was permitted.

This gave Connor more time to think, while soft music still played in the background.

First, he needed to set his goals straight. Aiden and the disappearances where his top priority. Whatever fantasy he was trying to build here had to come after that.

He tried, hard, to focus on that, but all that came back was what he read about the person right besides him.

_Androids aren't alive. That is impossible._

He remembered a report that came by the other day. Again, it didn't fit anything, other than how it happened. Again, whoever was taking these people targeted those who wouldn't have family looking for them. It was smart, but sooner or later, every disappearance gets to the police.

_They fake well, I'll give them that._

Still, the evidence started to point towards Aiden with more strength each day. People vanished in the places he used to go to, meaning he knew the area well. He planned everything so perfectly, though, no blood stains, no witness, no fingerprints, no one saw him beforehand.

_No matter what anyone claims, machines cannot, and will never be alive. Living being have something no android, no machine, can ever have._

He felt like an idiot, chasing a ghost.

_The ones passing laws to see androids as living beings are absolutely insane._

"I'm talking to you, damn it, can you listen?!" He heard them growl, and quickly lifted his head, looking straight in their eyes. The words still ringing in his head. "I made you an offer. So, yes or no?"

"I'm sorry... I didn't hear it... What did you say? What offer?" He felt the car stop abruptly, almost sending him flying forward. What in the hell?! "(y/n), you're in the middle of the street, you can't stop here!!" He yelled, rubbing his eyes to focus properly. He needed to check this, urgently, if it kept happening every time he moved too fast it could become a big problem-

"YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME?!" He winced, both from the volume and what he was ready to see. Except, yet again, he couldn't predict what the photographer was about to do. It seemed he never could.

Not angry, not pissed that he wasn't paying attention. But utterly in shock, mouth agape, wide eyes with pupils as small as a wasps sting. Connor moved back in the seat a little, trying to put distance between the both of them. What in the world was going on? He kept staring at them, and as a result, (y/n) decided to ask again.

"Connor, did your receptors, or whatever they are, failed, and you couldn't hear me?" Now they seemed a bit more calmer, and started the car again, this time going much, much slower.

"N-no, my hearing is fine, I just spaced out. Again..." Connor looked out the window, feeling slightly ashamed. Again he felt himself throw back as (y/n) went faster this time with an cruel grin on their face.

"Then that's even better. I said, If you need some extra money, you could help me out by being my model. I have a flexible schedule, so when you aren't out there chasing psychos, just give me a call, what do you say?"

Connor looked at them, partly surprised, partly afraid, partly tempted. It was no mistake he could indeed use the extra money, it was always welcome. But work with (y/n) who he just learned was not a big fan of androids? It felt dangerous. Besides, weren't all of their pictures always showing the ugly, the damaged, the wrong, the imperfect? Was the invitation an insult?

He looked down again, not sure what he should answer. He heard them sigh besides him, but then they were in silence again, only the sound of the street around, muffled by the closed windows.

He tried to remember their first exchange, he knew something was said back then, which he couldn't quite place, but he felt it was important.

_You might be one of them._

What, their destroyed paintings? Now he felt like (y/n) might've taken part in the murders. Connor hated this. On one hand, he really, really wanted to get to know them better. On the other, he might as well be walking alongside the devil.

"Look, you change your mind, call me." He noticed the car stopped right in front of the department. When he look at (y/n), he noticed the card being handed to him. Connor stared at it for a few moments, before something clicked to him.

_I need to see it by myself._

So he took it, got out of the car without another word, and made a straight line towards his own desk.

_Let's see what you're really like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated opening this chapter, then trying to write, and erasing it, then repeat. Probably my worst yet.


	7. Become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Af, shitty Af, and I'm not giving up on this bad boy.

 

The location that Connor was expecting was something like an old android dump, or something similar, not...

Jericho's sink site.

But sure enough, (y/n) was not messing with him. He found both them and Bruce by the water, looking around the area, sometimes Bruce would point to something, then scribble something; While (y/n) never took their eyes out of the horizon.

Connor didn't know what to do, now that he was here. Being convinced to come was already a big thing, that Hank was on the fence with - But made sure Connor knew what he felt about the android walking with someone that clearly despised what he was, what he couldn't change.

_"Look, Connor, I really want you to start hangin' around with someone other than the Jericho crew, trust me, but for real, (y/n), of all your options?! That's as bad as trying to talk to Gavin!"_

Still, he felt like he needed to go, he needed to see by himself, he needed (y/n) to prove how rotten they could be. THEN, and only then, he would distance himself. Just needed to be sure.

Thankfully, there was next to no one around, so he didn't have to worry about people watching.

Only about the cameras.

Shit.

 

\---

 

"We fucked up big time..." He mumbled, looking over the sunset. The red light glared back at them, and Bruce glared right back. This wasn't the plan.

"'WE?' YOU decided to stop for a snack, in a crowded place. Now we have to deal with this bullshit! Look at that motherfucker!!" (y/n) growled, angrily pointing at the sun. The ideal setting for taking photos was a grey sky, which was present a few minutes ago, but now the sun decided to come back out, and they both would have to wing it, now that they confirmed with their model. "Just, please tell me the detective android is on his way."

What a way to finish off a day of work. Considering the unusual traffic, the cold food, the melted to it's package snickers, and the sunset being as red as physically possible, the cherry on top would have been the detective coming in late!...

Which was understandable, he did text he was just finishing up on a case, and had to send in a report, but still. If he was going to be late, a warning was always appreciated, and, if referring to a job, (which this was) mandatory. Okay, so maybe they didn't sign any contracts, but they had the papers on the ready.

Now, if only the detective could show up already... But, before (y/n) could even think of how great it was to know Connor was imperfect, Bruce jumped in joy, rushing over to a very punctual, and apparently not imperfect, machine.

"What a pity..." Just when things were starting to look promising. "Well, in any case, now that you're here..." They mumbled, watching how much friendlier Bruce was acting. A very different approach than he had back in their first meeting. "We can uh, get some tings straight. First, what do you not want to show off? Like, are you shy? Maybe you don't want your face immortalized in a photograph." The android lifted its head, but smiled. Hm...

"No, I don't mind it. There are a few other RK800 models, after all."

"... Can they take legal action for having their faces on display without consent?..." Bruce whispered in their ear, already reaching in his bag for a plan B, if that was the case.

"Ask the detective, I'm going to figure out what we will be doing, now that the _sun is out._ " (y/n) growled, promptly stomping away from them, leaving Connor and Bruce in a very awkward position.

"Soooooo.... CAN... They take legal action?" The man tested the waters, not sure where he was going with the half baked conversation he insisted in creating.

"I... No? How would that work?"

"Well, you're the cop. Soo... Here, just sign this." Bruce handed him the papers, eyes darting to (y/n), kneeling down near the edge to try a different angle. "Take your time, if you want to read. This might take a while." He then ran back over to them, leaving Connor to read over the contract. It was certainly the type to go over that carefully. "Don't abandon me with androids. Ever again."

"What, I thought you didn't have any problems with them." Bruce grunted, crossing his arms.

"I don't. But that guy... It's awkward. Doesn't act like the other androids." (y/n) rolled their eyes.

"Sure. Whatever." They sat down, looking around for something else. They didn't do much sunset works, because colors were rarely this saturated in their works; Then again, they were trying to do something different. (y/n) Looked to their left, seeing the android already moving over. Just as he was walking towards them, they heard something. "Are those birds?" Bruce frowned in confusion, but looked around, searching for the source of the sound.

"Yeah," He turned to look at the bird in the distance. (y/n) stayed silent for a few seconds, then jumped back up.

"Alright. Connor, you stand right over there, and look over where the ship was." Bruce shooed the android in that direction, going right behind him to help out in any way possible. "Okay, now don't look like... Well, don't be so rigid. Just- Be natural," Well. So Connor can't be natural. Fine, let Bruce handle it then, "Bruce?" He walked over and helped put Connor in place, quickly making the Detective get the hang of it.

Time to get to work.

 

\---

 

They had been at it for a while now. Connor didn't have to move much, though. (y/n) had him standing in different angles, sometimes change the pose a little, but for most part it was the same. And there wasn't much talk, at least much less than he expected, but he wasn't about to complain. Quiet meant he didn't have to wreck his circuits to figure out how to be "not robotic".

You know what would be awesome? A book titled "How To Deviant". It would make his life sooo much easier!!... Well, maybe not. Every single How to Blank book Hank ever got helped in absolutely nothing. Still, he would pay big money to get his hands on a tutorial to figure out this deviant thing. You'd think being one for so long would mean Connor already had it one hundred percent under control, but nope. Still struggling with the most basic shit.

"You know what, forget it. It's not working." Connor turned around quickly. What happened? Did he got too distracted and fucked up? Had (y/n) changed their mind about him? Were they about to- "I can't work with sunset scenes. It just- Doesn't mix. Forget it. Connor, I'm sorry pal. We'll have to try again later. Bruce, pay the guy, I have to-" They cut themselves off with a sigh, stalking away. Bruce rolled his eyes, but reached in the bag and brought the money over to Connor.

"Sorry about that. It's mostly my fault, really." Connor slowly took the money, frowning.

"What are you two sorry for?" Bruce shoved his hands on his pockets, looking around with a sigh.

"Well... I would say for wasting you time, but," he cocked his head in the directions of the money. "It wouldn't be true, no matter how you spin it. It's just that most people get kind of... Sad, let's say, when their photos don't cut it. In any way," He lifted his right hand, expecting Connor to shake it. "It isn't the last time you'll model for us, I reckon." Connor shook his hand, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. He turned to leave, but heard Bruce calling him. "Ah, one more thing,"

"What?"

"The photos we won't use, (y/n) doesn't mind staying with the models. Just keep it to yourself, capiche? It's on the contract, after all. I'll send them over as soon as possible." He smiled. Connor smiled back, feeling relaxed. Bruce jogged over to (y/n) and the two went towards the car.

Connor went back to the street, called a taxi and waited. He came. He talked. He worked. He got the money. Everything went... Fine. Way better than he expected, actually.

He felt calm.

 

\---

 

That calm Connor felt was short lived. The DPD had called both Connor and Hank in, there was another disappearance, this time an AP700, olive skin, female, short black hair, and, as always, no know connections.

Hank had taken over interrogating the people nearby, while Connor was acting as the hound of the situation, searching up and down the street for any clues he could follow.

But just like all the other times, all he found was thirium belonging to the victim. This time however, it was a bit more than usual, suggesting the would was bigger, and therefore, he could follow the thirium. Connor glanced back at Hank, still talking to a local shop owner. The older man looked at him and nodded, so Connor went ahead, following the trail.

The droplets were so small he could barely see them, but it was enough to help him find the next big clue.

The trail went ahead on an alleyway. And Connor didn't have to look to much to know what happened here. The dumpster had been moved, and not only once from the looks. He jogged over to the other side of the alleyway, but by the time it connected to the next street, he couldn't find any more thirium.

He had to reconstruct with what he had.

Fine.

First, the android was attacked with enough force to loose thirium, but was able to run down the street, and reach the alleyway. Then, she used the dumpster to slow down her attacker, who shoved the dumpster out of the way, and caught her.

And who caught her had to make a quick escape. AKA, a car. And also...

Connor went over to the dumpster, looking at where it was pushed from. If he was lucky, he could-

_Yes!_

There was something out of place in the dumpster. Because no one throws away a perfectly good metal bat, and, would you look at that, it has thirium on it. It belonged to the kidnapped android, but if they took it back to analysis, he was sure they could find something. So he took it, carefully.

He had a murder weapon, and he knew they escaped with a vehicle.

This case was finally starting to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, reader and Connor have a decent interaction. Alcohol is involved.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome, hope you enjoyed!! (Can we talk about how effing adorable Bryan and Amelia look together? I would sell my organs for a relationship like that.)


End file.
